59
Alina
“Montréal!!!!! Thank you for being fucking awesome! Let’s give it up to the guys for always kicking ass…” Slater points to Rain, Scott, and Fife once we’re back out for the final encore. We’ve played for over an hour-and-a-half, and I feel incredible. “And we wouldn’t be here at all tonight without the help of this girl, Alina Cassidy, right over there on lead guitar,” Slater says, pointing to me. “Leave it to Zack to get hurt while playing at his dream job of being a roadie. Idiot…” he jokes, letting out a sexy-as-hell rumble that vibrates throughout the stadium. I swear it hits me right between the legs.
Slater Jenkins is beautiful, but onstage he’s electric, magnetic, and so completely hot. He draws you in and holds you captive while performing, and after seeing him running around all night, it’s getting harder and harder to not just run over and jump his handsome, muscular ass. Watching him move onstage tonight has my girlie bits working overtime, the way his shirt is pulled across his broad chest, or the way those damn veins I can’t get enough of seeing snake down so visibly from his biceps to his forearms as he grips the microphone tight when singing the higher notes of a song.
“…But thank fuck we had a hidden gem to save our asses tonight. And, thankfully, she agreed to play with us. Let’s give it up again for my girl, Ali!” I hear Slater shout, and then I hear the crowd chanting my name, and it breaks me from my Slater-induced reverie.
“My girl.”
I can’t hide the smile which pulls at my lips over the fact that he just called me his girl in front of twenty-one thousand people. Plus the fact that I held my own up here playing with Sicken Union, one of the biggest names in the industry. Best part? I didn’t mess up. Not once. The crowd is surprisingly welcoming, which fuels my adrenaline. It pulses through my body, along with a sense of pride in myself that’s practically overflowing because I fucking did it! I’m still doing it, and it feels amazing. I make devil horns to the audience. I didn’t let them down.
“Now…” Slater says, as the crowd starts to simmer. They quiet down so they can hear him. “I’d like to sing one last special song. One I want to dedicate to a very special woman. It’s not on the set list we gave her, well, because it was supposed to be a surprise. So I had to improvise tonight, again thanks to Zack.” He chuckles and shakes his head, and the audience laughs. “I’m going to need your help with this one, guys. It’s the first time I’ve ever sung it, so bear with me, but it means a whole lot to my girl, and to me. So, if you have a phone help me set the mood, ’cause god knows I might fuck this up. Get ’em out and shine your light my way, and let’s hope she sees how incredible we think she is. Help me show her she’s my light.”
Slater turns to me, covers the mic, and says, “This one’s for you, Shadow.”
“What the hell?” I gasp to myself. The lights dim for a few beats before one lone blue spotlight shines down from directly above Slater, illuminating him where he’s perched on a stool, strapping on a guitar handed to him by a black-garbed roadie.
Hands shaking, I drop my pick as tears start to form, followed by the biggest grin to ever cross my lips, as Slater starts thumbing the familiar chords to the song “Swim,” by Jack’s Mannequin.
“…swim…”
I stand stock-still, trembling as Slater’s voice so poignantly puts his own stamp on my personal anthem, singing the lyrics about brighter days, even when the sun isn’t shining. His voice is husky and sexy.
The crowd starts to join in on the chorus, and I feel like I’m floating. Never has anyone made me feel as special as Slater has in this moment. I will never forget this performance for as long as I live. And I vow here and now to always swim towards him for as long as he wades the waters with me.
By the time the last chord is strummed, and the final line sung—and in front of all these people!—I find I am launching myself into Slater’s arms, almost knocking him off his stool, earning us a round of “awws”, laughs, and applause from the crowd.
“Hi, baby,” Slater says, steadying us, and shifting his guitar onto his back while laughing. Again, it echoes through the microphone.
“I’m going to need you to put that mic down. I’d hate to break it,” I say, steeling my nerves so my voice doesn’t falter.
“Oh yeah?” he asks, cocking his head, confused at the request. Seeing the glint of amusement in his eyes, I lean in close to his ear.
“Definitely,” I reply, before facing him and slamming my mouth over his, making the crowd go wild. They hoot, catcall, and holler as we kiss and again when he wraps his arms around me, the roar taking over as the lights fade to black around us.
“Yours is my new favourite version of that song. I’ll never forget this night. Thank you for giving me that.”
“And you’re just my favourite,” he calls to me over the cheering crowd, taking my hand and walking us offstage.
“Let’s get out of here,” I suggest, giving him what I hope is a knowing look.
“Yeah?”
“God, yes. It’s about time you put out,” I shout over the applause.
He swats my butt as we exit stage left, ignoring everyone on the outside of our bubble.